Why did we start anyway?
by Plushiesformone
Summary: A look at the downfall of the minutemen And the first masked man.


Things were good for a while, or at least that was what Captain Metropolis convinced himself when it all started, but even he could see when things started to turn sour, almost everything at once. It started with the Dollar Bill, his unfortunate demise, then the Silk Spectator's murder. He remembered clearly when he heard of that.

His stomach turned cold as Larry informed him of the news, a look of horror crossing his face, of course he couldn't have done much of anything to stop Bill's death but this... He was the one who expelled her from the group... Maybe... if he hadn't been such a hypocrite, she would still be alive, her lover too. He made his way home in a flurry that night, knowing he couldn't face what remained of the group, he just couldn't do it.

Shaking by the time he entered the door of his much too large house, he pushed it closed then slumped down against it. What had he done? Sent an innocent lady to her death, just because of the risk of bad press? Ripping off his mask, Metropolis wanted to throw it away, never touch it again, but he found it frozen in his hands, and he stared down at it with watery blue eyes. Why did they do this? Wear these stupid costumes? How did it even all start?

With Hooded Justice, of course, but even he didn't know why the man had started it all, what had propelled him to put on that hood and go out and fight crime. Of course the Captain knew well that he liked inflicting pain, in more ways then one, but he was almost sure that wasn't why he started, he had to have had another reason. Another reason that put to justice all the death and struggle, another reason, that made this fight seem worth while.

But nothing was worth the death of your friends, was it?

Pushing the old memories from his head, Captain Metropolis came to his decision a few months after all of those incidents had happened. He called a meeting, and watched with sad eyes as everyone actually appeared for once. There really was no more happiness in the group anymore, but was there ever any? He hoped that there was once.

That night he announced the disbanding of the group, that he was shutting down the HQ, there would be no more Minutemen.

Mere days after the meeting, and everyone parting ways, the press got word and soon the government saw their move and pressed for identities. Most gave way, but a few just seemed to... disappear. Nelson found himself pardoned for his 'crimes', he could continue his work as Metropolis, but he wasn't sure if he even wanted that anymore. He found his costume hung up in his room for days straight.

Occasionally he managed to visit Hooded Justice, even though times were rough even for them, they still fought, let out stress, and eventually relaxed. One day, though, he found a note on his door, saying that HJ wanted to meet him, at the old HQ, but something felt off about it. It wasn't in the handwriting he had grown to learn.

It was possible it was a trap, but it was possible he was in danger, either way Metropolis had decided the moment he took hold of the paper that he would go, and for the first time in a while, he dressed in his costume, rushing down back allies and to the back of the old building they once all met at. It was supposed to be locked, but he found the door damaged, it easily swung open.

The air was cold and still as he stepped into the dark hall, on guard, but there was not a sound but his boots against the old wood floors. Finding their main meeting room the only one with the light on, he carefully pushed the door open and froze at the sight, a choked cry escaping him.

There lay Hooded Justice, still against the floor, a gunshot wound through his hood, staining it with crimson blood. Rushing over, Nelson found tears dampening his mask, this couldn't be happening. Everything was supposed to be okay now, everything over.

Ripping off his thick gloves, the blond man scrambled to try and find any sign of life in the first masked man, though he knew it was hopeless. He knew he was gone. He was gone, the man who started it all, killed cold, and left dead on the floor for his lover to find.

It took a long while to calm his sobs, but Metropolis knew what to do, though it pained him more then anything else in the world. Struggling to lift the wall of the man, some how he managed to take him to the city river, and sat him down at the bank. With shaking hands he took the cold man's costume from him, taking a moment to hold the still form against his chest, shaking with silent sobs once more, a hand covering the bloodied shot in the man's head, and just holding him for a moment.

It was almost as if he was just asleep like that.

Finding the strength to move once more, Metropolis carefully laid his partner's body in the water, letting it drift off and slowly standing, giving him a teary salute for the last time, still silently asking himself the question he never got to ask the man now gone.

Why was this all started anyway?

* * *

**_I'm not sorry._ **


End file.
